


Friday I'm In Love

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Office Supplies, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles now knows that Lydia has unsurprisingly perfect cursive and that Erica has a truly ridiculous lipstick collection, he just doesn’t understand why they need to display these talents on his belongings. </p><p>In other words, a story in which Stiles is oblivious, until he’s not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday I'm In Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatdamneddame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamneddame/gifts).



> Written for thatdamneddame, because she wrote me toenail painting fic and encourages my grudgingly admitted feels, albeit none of which appear in this particular fic.

Stiles isn’t sure what he did in his past life that he was assigned to work specifically with Derek Hale and his team of children masquerading as adults, but it must have been something terrible. Launching kittens out of canons or stealing ice cream from children terrible, or the Human Resources gods would have let him keep his office on the eighth floor, well away from Derek and his set of issues.

It’s not that Stiles doesn’t love the sixth floor and its team of miscreants, because he does. He loves that Scott is always up for a paper football match and that Lydia stalks the halls like she’s out for blood and that Boyd gives the best hugs if you look pathetic and worn down enough. 

What he likes less is his tiny cubicle with a squeaky chair and that Derek tends to use his eyebrows as communication devices instead of his vocal chords and that Jackson is still a ridiculous douche bag. 

Also, that his coffee mug has become a casualty of some war between Erica and Lydia.

 

_Monday_

 

Stiles walks into his weekly meeting, clutching his mug like a lifeline. It’s seven am, which he argues is reason enough not to notice that his mug has a ring of vamp red lipstick stains around the rim.

It’s not until Isaac asks if there’s something new in his personal life that he realizes, which, embarrassing much?

Last week hadn’t been any better; Lydia had written in green sharpie, _Property of Derek Hale_ , on his mug. Boyd had pointed that one out.

He idly wonders if he can charge to the company the ridiculous amount of hand-sanitizer he’s going to need to get rid of the stains.

 

“Lydia, light of my life and goddess made flesh, do you think you could wage this war on Erica with someone else’s coffee cup? Please?”

Lydia stares at him with expression #14—the “why are you talking instead of doing my bidding” look—before drawing an angry emoticon the mug, filling it with coffee, and handing it to him expectantly.

He takes a sip, “Ah. Thank you. You know how much I hate the lining of my throat, I’m so glad you brewed the coffee doubly strong today.”

The moment she leaves, Stiles dumps three packets of sugar and some creamer in the mug before taking another sip and sighing in relief.

 

When Derek calls him into his office, Stiles wonders if Derek is finally willing to address this weird and oddly focused prank war between his PR guru and his receptionist. Stiles doesn’t mind being the focus of Lydia and Erica’s attention, but it went a bit differently in his head. Less prank war and more threesome. 

Sadly, no. Derek actually wants to complain at him. “Someone keeps taping up pictures in my office.” He holds up a picture of a kitten hanging from a tree, _Hang in there!_ written in a swirly font. “I think it’s Scott. Make it stop.”

He swallows his laughter, because the wall behind Derek is covered with insanity wolf meme pictures, and Derek’s glare is eerily similar to the wolf’s. As much as he hates sending Derek’s ire in Scott’s direction, it’s not as if he’s about to admit that he comes in every Tuesday and posts those pictures. “I’ll have a talk with Scott; see if we can’t resolve this peacefully. Now, can we talk about Jackson’s latest complaint of you ‘looming threateningly’?” 

“No, but you can leave now,” Derek bares his teeth.

Stiles errs on the side of caution and makes his exit, just in case Derek decides to really imitate the insanity wolf.

 

The thing about Derek is that he drives Stiles nuts. One second he’s all angry eyebrows of doom and demanding that Stiles fix morale, and the next he’s ordering better coffee because Stiles complained. 

It doesn’t help that Derek eschews the dress code and looks like a lumberjack, with his permanent stubble and wearing Henleys that cling to his broad shoulders that Stiles just wants to cling to and maybe bite.

He keeps getting these mixed signals, and it’s hard to get a solid read on Derek when he refuses to be consistent.

 

_Tuesday_

 

Stiles hates Tuesdays. Nothing good ever happens on Tuesdays. Aside from the hour where Derek is out of the office and Stiles gets to print off questionable images from Tumblr, Tuesdays suck.

This week he’s papering Derek’s office with images from that Business Cat meme that Scott thinks is hilarious and spams Stiles’ inbox with. Derek hates cats; it’s perfect. 

As he does this, Jackson commences with his customary laundry list of issues. He usually rediscovers his balls over the weekend, gathers his courage on Mondays, and then takes the Derek-free hour on Tuesday to file ridiculous complaints, all while talking loudly in hopes that Lydia will hear him and give him the time of day. It’s painful to watch and even more painful to listen to.

And every Tuesday, without fail, Erica somehow steals Stiles’ coffee mug and peppers it with her lipstick choice of the week. Sometimes she returns it before he notices it missing, and it’s not until he goes to take a sip and wonders why his lips feel waxy does he realize it’s happened again.

 

“Erica, it’s not that you aren’t lovely and vicious and look marvelous in that leather jacket, but for the love of God, _why_.”

Stiles doesn’t really expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one, other than a pointed smirk in between answering the phone. 

One of these days, he’s going to handcuff his coffee cup to his wrist, and then what will they do.

 

Sometimes Derek comes back from his meetings and sits with Stiles before going back to his office, lets Stiles ramble at him while he does paperwork and responds to emails.

Sometimes Derek actually talks back, but that’s less likely. More often what happens is that Stiles talks, tells Derek about his weekend, about his failed adventure with making pie dough, and, if he gets Derek to smile/laugh/make an actual expression that constitutes joy, he gives him a sticker. This week it’s unicorn stickers.

Derek looks less than amused, but Stiles sees him look at the sticker with a strangely fond expression as he walks down the hall.

 

From his desk, Stiles hears Derek’s growl of rage when he sees his newly decorated office, and he laughs softly to himself. Point for Stiles.

 

Apparently, Derek is less observant than Stiles gives him credit for, because somehow he’s been unaware of the battle between Erica and Lydia for the possession of Stiles’ coffee cup. 

At least, that’s what Stiles can only assume from the slack expression on Derek’s face when he comes to complain about his office being vandalized and sees the ring of bubblegum pink lipstick on the mug. Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell him that that vacant expression doesn’t do him any favors, because it’s such a variation from his usual expressions and Stiles really wants to encourage Derek to express his feelings in a safe and nonviolent manner. Derek, from what Stiles has seen, has three settings: anger, signaled by flared nostrils and stress lines around his mouth; schadenfreude, indicated by this with weird thing he does with his eyebrows; and resignation, where he smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

When Stiles sees what he’s looking at, he explains, “I see you’ve spotted Erica’s handiwork.” He looks consideringly at the mug, “I’m not sure why she keeps doing it, but there you have it.”

Derek just snarls and stalks off.

“Well, that was strange,” he says aloud, as he half-heartedly tries to scrub some of the lipstick off with his sleeve.

 

Derek comes back an hour later and silently thrusts a clean new mug at Stiles.

Stiles stares, a bit confused. 

“Take the damn mug, Stiles,” and pushes it into Stiles’ hands.

If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Derek was blushing before he stalked off.

 

 _Wednesday_

 

Wednesday is uneventful, except Derek throws his stapler at the wall and hides all the extra sharpies from the closet. It makes Erica laugh, Lydia scowl, and Stiles drink more coffee than he should, clutching his new mug protectively to his chest.

 

 _Thursday_

 

The day starts off so well, with a warm blueberry muffin from the non-hipster coffee shop on the corner and his favorite songs on the radio, so Stiles doesn’t understand why everything went wrong.

It could be because Scott breaks the printer trying to print off his chapbook of love poems dedicated to Allison. 

It might be because Jackson still hasn’t pulled the stick of entitlement out of his ass.

It definitely has something to do with Lydia sitting on Stiles’ desk and angling her endless legs in his direction, smiling and tossing her hair in a way that floods his cubicle with her perfume and ensures that Jackson glares at him for the rest of the day.

It probably doesn’t help that Erica kisses his cheek and leaves a smear of red lipstick on his cheek, so of course he runs into Derek as he’s absentmindedly trying to wipe it away. 

He doesn’t know what Derek sees on his face, but all he knows is that the small, hurt look Derek gives him before his face falls into absolute blankness makes Stiles’ heart clench and his breath stutter, because for all his pining for Derek’s _everything_ , he never once imagined that Derek would feel the same way. 

But before he can explain, Derek nods sharply, face resigned, like he understands something, and then spends all day locked in his office.

Stiles isn’t sure what Derek thinks he knows, but he’s pretty sure it’s wrong.

 

_Friday_

 

Derek instituted a no singing in the office policy after Stiles spent a week serenading the floor with the best of ABBA, but Stiles has “Friday” stuck in his head, and not even the threat of Derek’s scowl can stop him from singing “Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Fridayyyyy.”

Lydia’s threat to disembowel him even if it ruins her new manicure, however, does. 

 

Stiles is pretty sure that Derek is avoiding him. 

No, he’s positive. Derek definitely turned and practically ran out of the break room when Stiles came in, which on Derek looks like really determined speed walking. 

He’s still not sure what he did wrong, and it’s not until he’s staring blankly at his desk and sees his unblemished coffee mug that he realizes. 

 

There are still no sharpies in the office supply closet, so he gets to enjoy Lydia’s knowing and superior look when he comes to steal one from her. 

“You finally figured it out? Took you long enough,” she says archly. 

Stiles points an accusing finger at her, “Well, it’s not like you were any help.”

“I wrote _Property of Derek Hale_ on your cup. The only way I could have been more obvious would be if wrote it on your face.”

“Yes, well—,” and Stiles runs off, sharpie in hand.

 

Stiles walks into Derek’s office holding two mugs of coffee, hoping that if he traps Derek in his own office they can at least figure this out without Derek running away like a twelve year old.

He offers one of the mugs to Derek, holding it out until Derek actually takes it. He’s written on it in sharpie: _Do you like me? Check Y / Y / MFY_ , since apparently actual communication is beyond them.

Derek begins to smile and it reaches his eye and he looks, fuck, he looks _happy_ , like Stiles makes him happy, and Stiles would give a lot of things to keep Derek looking like that.

“MFY?” Derek asks, as he gets up to shut the door.

And when Derek crowds him up against the desk, caging him in and cupping one hand around his jaw, Stiles solemnly replies, “Motherfucking yes,” and smiles into the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
